


Still Lacking Conviction

by FleetofShippyShips



Series: Lacking Conviction [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (but not really this time), (so much swearing), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, Begging, Denial of Feelings, Dom/sub Undertones, Don't copy to another site, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Insults, M/M, Open Ending, Post-Hogwarts, Swearing, Teasing, may read as dubious consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-09 21:56:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18925780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetofShippyShips/pseuds/FleetofShippyShips
Summary: Two days after a botched mission resulted in an angry, passionate tumble, Malfoy takes leave without telling Harry why. Harry only lasts a few days before barging into Malfoy's flat to demand answers.





	Still Lacking Conviction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OTPshipper98](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OTPshipper98/gifts).



> For @rockmarina/otpshipper98 =)

It’s stupid. Completely against everything he’s always saying. Always claiming. It’s going to cause more problems than it solves. He shouldn’t even care in the first place. He shouldn’t be spending every bloody day thinking about it. Wondering.  _Missing_ him.

Still, knowing it’s a mistake, Harry finds himself knocking on the door to Malfoy’s flat.

It’s tucked away in a building in a mostly-magical neighbourhood. Typical of Malfoy, he thinks, except he can’t really blame him. Sometimes he wishes he’d chosen a magical neighbourhood himself. Better to be able to live openly than constantly worry who sees what.

There’s a deeper message there, but Harry squashes it down as soon as it tries to rise up.

He feels like an idiot, standing on Malfoy’s doorstep. He’s never been there before, even though Malfoy has been to his flat plenty, dragging him off for missions when he’s running late, barging in to continue arguments Harry tried to run from. _Fucking_ him on his floor so well he spends _days_ thinking about it.

Harry inhales sharply and shies away from that. He’s not meant to be thinking about _that_.

He knocks again, harder. There’s still no answer, and before his mind can go spinning off where it _shouldn’t_ , he breaks the wards on Malfoy’s door and opens it.

The selfish git never respects Harry’s boundaries, so why should he do so in return?

They’re partners. Malfoy can’t just put in for leave without an explanation. He can’t just disappear without a bloody word and leave all the work to Harry. It isn’t right. It isn’t fair.

And worst of all, Harry shouldn’t fucking care. But he finds himself constantly thinking about it to the point of distraction. And bloody hell, he fucking _hates_ Malfoy for it.

The flat is silent as Harry shuts the door behind him. The air feels old, like it hasn’t been changed in a few days.

Harry’s irritation fades to tension. He holds his wand tightly and looks around. He hadn’t fully considered something might have happened to Malfoy, but now his mind is careening through possible scenarios, all of which make him feel a bit sick.

“You know, I probably should have expected this.”

The words come so unexpectedly, Harry startles and stumbles into a tiny table that has no place against a wall. He whips up his wand a moment too late, if that had been a threat, they’d have had him.

It takes him a moment to locate Malfoy. He’s slumped down on the sofa so far he’s almost invisible from where Harry is standing. He moves closer, moves around the sofa to look down at him. He’s only wearing his pants and Harry looks away awkwardly.

“What’s wrong with you then?” he asks. “You don’t look particularly ill or grieving.”

Malfoy snorts. “I didn’t claim I was.”

“No, you didn’t say anything. You just stopped showing up to work without even telling your partner you were taking leave,” Harry snaps, glaring back down at him.

Malfoy raises an eyebrow and stands. Harry has to force himself not to take a step back when he’s confronted by the lack of space and a very naked chest. Probably a good thing for once, that he has to look up to meet Malfoy’s eye.

Not that looking Malfoy in the eye is anything but a mistake, given the fact he shouldn’t fucking be there. He shouldn’t fucking care. He should have been glad for the break from him. He should have been fucking _ecstatic_.

Malfoy is never going to let him forget this.

“Isn’t it obvious? I wanted a new partner and they wouldn’t give me one, so I took leave to finally get a break from you and your bullshit,” Malfoy drawled.

Before Harry can get a handle on it, there’s a lightning fast bolt of unease low in his gut. Malfoy’s ‘leave’ had started two days after that night in Harry’s flat. It’s not the first time he’s thought of it, but it’s the first time he’s thought of it clearly enough to feel something from it.

“And this is how you spend your break?” he asks, fighting down the impulse to ask if it’s about the sex he insisted they never speak about. To ask why that time was different than the first time, which they’d managed to ignore for _months_ without it changing anything. “Lounging around in your pants? That’s more important than doing your job and putting criminals behind bars?”

Malfoy leans so close Harry can see his hair is a little damp at the tips, like he showered recently, even though it’s early in the evening.

“What of it? _Disappointed_ in me? Think I don’t I live up to the honour of being Harry Potter’s partner?”

The words almost curl around Harry and he hates that Malfoy uses _that_ tone. Anything in that tone lights sparks in his lower belly and it never takes much for them to grow into fire.

“I’d need to have a high opinion of you to be disappointed,” he says dismissively, stepping around him and inhaling slowly.

He really should not have done this. He should have just let Malfoy have his sulk. Let him run off like a coward and left him to it. He shouldn’t have missed him in the first place, working with him was hell. They fought constantly. They even fought in the middle of missions. In the middle of meetings. Always at each other’s throats. They couldn’t even sit in their shared office without fighting constantly over the stupidest things. He should have been enjoying the break. The peace and quiet. Hell, he should have taken leave himself.

He barely makes it two steps before a hand curls around his wrist and tugs him back, until he’s stumbling up against Malfoy’s body.

“I’m disappointed by your transparency,” Malfoy murmurs, in an even worse tone. “You didn’t even last four days. You are utterly, ridiculously, _pathetic_.”

The last word is hissed against Harry’s lips as one of Malfoy’s hands curls into the hair at the nape of his neck and holds him still.

For a moment, Harry lets it happen. For a moment, he forgets himself. Malfoy is towering over him, almost naked and so close, and Harry is still reeling from his own stupidity and hearing _that_ tone.

When Malfoy uses that tone Harry forgets for a moment how much he hates him. In that moment, his body burns and he leans into him.

Which only makes it worse that Malfoy is the one who steps away.

“Get out of my flat, Potter,” he says, before turning and walking out of the room.

Harry stands there for a moment, trying to reign back in his reaction to being so physically close to Malfoy, to being kissed by him. He takes a few moments to try and push back down the memory of being fucked on his living room floor. The memory of Malfoy in him and over him and all around him. He tries to douse the fire already heating his belly.

He should never have let it happen again.

“You fucking hypocrite!” he shouts, following Malfoy through to another room with his hands curled into fists. He hesitates in the doorway as he catches sight of a bed.

“We weren’t mid-argument when you broke my wards and barged in here,” Malfoy snorts as he pulls on a pair of trousers. He leaves them unfastened as he turns to Harry, and Harry can barely look away from how they hang open. “Admit it, you missed me at work. Or you were worried I was ill. Or maybe worried that—”

“They’re not going to assign me a new partner and I’m sick of having to do all the work myself,” Harry hisses, cutting Malfoy off before he can say something that would probably ring with too much truth. He’s always been so damn good at reading Harry, and now that Harry realises what a mistake it was to come to his flat, he can’t give him the chance. “Quit sulking and come back to work!”

“You almost killed me, and not for the first time,” Malfoy says, jabbing a finger in his direction. “I deserve a fucking break.”

“He had his wand to your _throat_ ,” Harry hisses. “Following protocol would have gotten us killed. The protocol is _useless_. There was nothing to do but distract him so you could get free of him before he _killed_ you.”

Malfoy invades his space in two long strides. “Firing a concussive spell into a potions laboratory stocked with Merlin knows what is the stupidest fucking distraction in the history of distractions! That’s really all you could think of? Almost blowing us all up?”

“I wasn’t _thinking_ , I just acted!” Harry shouts, the words slipping out even though he’s been keeping them locked up tight from the moment it happened.

With a sharp inhale, Harry turns to leave. He’s not doing this. He’s not touching that tangled mess of how he feels about that mission. He’s not touching that moment of utter, paralysing fear he’d had when he’d looked up and seen a wand digging into Malfoy's throat, or his own stupid, dangerous reaction to it.

A hand curls around his wrist and stops him again. When he’s tugged close to Malfoy this time, he tries to punch him. Malfoy deflects it so easily he must have seen it coming.

“You know I always hated you, but I never thought you were so fucking stupid until I was partnered with you,” Malfoy says quietly, staring down at him with an unreadable expression. “You really expect me to believe this front you put up? You really think you’re that good at lying? At acting? You think I don’t _know_ you?”

“Fuck off, you don’t know me!” Harry hisses, even though it’s predictable and pathetic.

Malfoy’s still holding his wrist, but his other hand comes to rest on Harry’s lower back. It only takes a small exertion of pressure until they’re pressed together.

And Harry’s body reacts as it has every other time they get too close. Only stronger now, as he remembers the feel of Malfoy pressing him down on the floor only days earlier.

“ _Not happening_ ,” he says through a clenched jaw.

“Still lacking conviction,” Malfoy murmurs.

“It’s adrenaline,” Harry mutters, cursing himself for how pathetic that response is. How _predictable_. Cursing the fact he really has no excuse at all as he reacts to the proximity, to only the slightest pressure of Malfoy’s body against his.

Malfoy smirks slowly. “Really? You’re going to try that one again? What exactly has happened that’s so scary, huh? Did I startle you _that_ much when you walked in? I didn’t think you were so easily frightened, Potter.”

“Piss off!”

Harry struggles. He pushes, he tries to tear his wrist from Malfoy’s grip. He thinks for a moment he’s managed to break free, but Malfoy follows his movement and then there’s something hitting the back of his knees and he falls.

Malfoy stands at the edge of the bed, staring down with an all too familiar expression as Harry pushes himself up onto his elbows.

“It’s fucking pathetic the way you try to deny you want this,” Malfoy says. “Look at you, you’re already fucking hard.”

Harry doesn’t look down. Doesn’t need to. The ache in his groin is enough. His face burns. He reacts too easily. Too quickly. His body just won’t fall in line.

“Can we dispense with the fighting this time and just get on with it?” Malfoy continues. “Or do you need to be reminding me that you hate me every few seconds so you don’t have some sort of crisis about it?”

Harry kicks him. Or tries to. Malfoy dodges him so easily it makes him shake. Then he kneels suddenly and all Harry’s clothes but his pants are gone.

“Quit banishing my clothes!” he snaps, reeling from the realisation this _is_ happening again.

Malfoy’s hands are on his knees, pulling them apart and Harry’s hips jerk up the moment Malfoy’s lips brush against the line of his cock pressing against his pants.

Harry wants it. He’s already burning for it. Denials form in his mind but with the way Malfoy reads him, he knows they’re utterly meaningless. Knows they won’t stop Malfoy. Nothing will stop Malfoy but an earnest ‘no’ that Harry is utterly incapable of delivering.

“I fucking _hate_ you!” he hisses, as Malfoy’s fingers curl under the waistband of his pants.

Malfoy looks up at him with an expression that’s far too amused for the moment.

“That’s more familiar,” Malfoy says, before standing up without removing Harry’s pants. “You know, when I lie in this bed and think of you in the night, I can almost hear you hissing that in my ear.”

Harry’s mouth drops open but he can’t even _think_ what to say to that. He can already feel that setting down roots in his mind so he never forgets it.

“Move up the bed, would you,” Malfoy says, taking off the trousers he hadn’t even finished properly putting on. “You’ll probably slip right off the edge with what I have planned.”

“You fucking...fucking...I can’t believe you just _said_ that, you sick, twisted—”

“Oh, he likes foreplay after all,” Malfoy interrupts, a wand appearing in his hand and then flicking until Harry slides up the bed. “Why the tone of surprise? Don’t you remember? I bottled the memories.”

Harry looks around before he can stop himself. When he sees two glowing vials and a pensieve, he’s not quite sure what the sensation in his stomach is. How he feels about it. What it _says_ about Malfoy.

“Well, made copies really. I enjoy thinking of you with your arse up for me every time you’re yelling at me at work too much to keep the memories permanently out of my mind,” Malfoy continues, crawling onto the bed after Harry and settling with a knee either side of his hips.

Harry turns back to see Malfoy’s lost his pants too, and any possible retorts die before they reach his mouth. Malfoy’s always been less resistant to this, but now he’s almost downright eager.

Malfoy leans over him, hands planted by his head. “Well? That’s your cue. Don’t you _hate_ me?”

With Malfoy wanting him to say it, Harry has never wanted to say it less.

“ _Fuck_ you!” he hisses instead.

Malfoy smirks down at him. “Oh, you will.”

And with that, he shifts and sits down, right on Harry’s crotch.

After a reflexive jerk of his hips, Harry presses his head back against the bed and hisses. Malfoy just shifts, moving his arse around until he settles.

“Won’t you?” Malfoy breathes, much closer, so close they’re almost kissing.

Before he can think, Harry breathes, “Yes.”

Malfoy stares at him. “That was annoyingly easy.”

Harry’s face burns but Malfoy chuckles and speaks again before he can think of a reply. Before he can try to say no when he really does mean yes.

“And yet, _damn_ ,” he breathes, brushing his lips along Harry’s jaw. “Almost as attractive as when you’re fighting me every step of the way. You’re ready to admit you want this then?”

Harry grits his teeth as Malfoy shifts, rocking against Harry’s cock. Malfoy mumbles something into Harry’s neck and Harry’s pants disappear.

“Wanting a fuck doesn’t _mean_ anything,” Harry mutters, struggling to think clearly as Malfoy sucks on his earlobe.

Malfoy bottling the memories probably does though, he thinks, glancing over to the top of the dresser where the pensieve and memories sit. Both times Malfoy said it, he hadn’t really believed he was serious. That he would really preserve the memories outside of his own mind to watch them again.

The idea of it makes his stomach twist uncomfortably, but when he imagines Malfoy watching them fuck and then wanking to it...

He grabs Malfoy by the hair and drags his head up to kiss him. Rough, biting, moaning while Malfoy still rocks against his cock. He’s not sure how to turn this back into what is has been before. Something about it feels off. Maybe because he yielded to it so quickly, so easily. Maybe because he came to Malfoy this time, even though he’d been adamant they wouldn’t do this again.

Malfoy pulls back after hardly any time at all. He rocks his hips a little as he looks down at him. Harry shifts under the pressure and breathes far harsher and louder than he should so soon.

Malfoy reduces him to a wreck far too easily. It isn’t _fair_.

“This doesn’t mean I don’t hate you,” he finds himself saying, pushing himself up on his elbows and glaring up at him.

Malfoy leans forward until their noses are touching. “Go on and say it then. _Remind me_.”

Harry shivers. Saying it when Malfoy wants him to just doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t feel satisfying. Makes the words feel hollow.

“Come back to work tomorrow,” he says instead. “Moping around home in your pants is fucking pathetic. You could be saving lives. I really will force them to give me a new partner if you don’t. I’ll do whatever it takes. I won’t be partnered to a layabout, worse, a _coward_.”

As if Harry’s words don’t surprise him at all, Malfoy just raises an eyebrow and shifts slightly. He shuffles back a bit and sits up on his knees.

“The only coward here is you,” he says, pressing a fingertip to the middle of Harry’s sternum.

Heat surges through Harry’s body. “How _dare_ you! After everything I’ve done?”

Malfoy ignores him in favour of running his finger down Harry’s chest. After a moment, the movement of it becomes slick, and Harry’s breath catches in his throat at how flawlessly Malfoy can cast non-verbally and wandlessly.

Harry looks down and watches as Malfoy’s finger slides over his stomach and reaches Harry’s cock. He runs his finger down the length of it and Harry twitches into the motion.

And then Malfoy’s hand disappears between his own legs.

The urge to watch, to _see_ Malfoy sink a finger into himself is enough to make Harry move. He doesn’t get far before Malfoy presses his other hand to Harry’s chest, fingers splayed out. He pushes him down so hard the bed shakes.

“If you don’t stay still, I will make you stay still,” he says quietly, catching Harry’s eye and pushing a little harder with his hand. “Got it?”

Harry’s exhale is a shudder. “Got it,” he confirms. Too easily. It’s just like when Malfoy pinned him to the floor that night in Harry’s flat. And the time before that. He just...gives way. “Bastard,” he adds, as if that somehow makes it better.

Malfoy just hums, and Harry watches the tendons in his wrist flex as he presses into himself. He can’t see enough, the angle is wrong, probably intentionally. But Malfoy left his other hand on Harry’s chest so he stays still and breathes into the press of it.

“And I thought watching you arse up for me was good,” Malfoy says, eyes sliding half shut as his hips twitch. “The way you just...”

Harry tries to get retorts ready, but Malfoy’s eyes slide all the way shut and his mouth hangs open on a moan and no more words come. The tendons in Malfoy’s wrist flex again and he bends at the middle a little as he makes another low sound in his throat. He pushes down on Harry’s chest with his other hand and it slides up a bit, pushing Harry’s chest hair the wrong way. The burst of sensation tickles and then almost stings, but Harry doesn’t even try to stop him. He breathes into it, attention still fixed on Malfoy’s other hand.

Malfoy doesn’t really move it, but Harry can see tendons continue to flex even with the difficult angle. Can see the movement of Malfoy’s fingers all the way up his arm. He can barely breathe as he watches Malfoy twitch and gasp and moan through what he’s doing to himself.

After what feels like too long and not long enough, Malfoy cracks his eyes open and looks at Harry. “Bet your tiny little fingers couldn’t even reach.”

Distracted by Malfoy finally starting to move his hand, to actually _fuck_ himself with his own fingers, it takes Harry far too long to register his words.

“You fucking prick!” he hisses. “My fingers aren’t tiny!”

Malfoy chuckles, low and throaty. His hand doesn’t stop moving. Harry’s cock starts aching so much it feels like it’s going to burst.

“Move closer, I’ll _show_ you,” Harry says, even though he finds his hands firmly clenched around fistfuls of the duvet. The thought of sinking them into the heat of Malfoy’s body is enough to let go, but before he can move any further, Malfoy’s hand on his chest curls like a claw and he feels the bite of nails.

“If you even try, I’ll tie your hands to my headboard,” Malfoy says.

“As if I couldn’t break whatever you tie me with,” Harry scoffs, feeling the bite of nails afresh with every deep inhale.

“I have magic-resistant handcuffs around here somewhere,” Malfoy says lazily, slipping his fingers out of himself and reaching for Harry’s cock.

Harry hisses and lifts his hips when Draco curls his fingers around it. Malfoy’s other hand shifts, and Harry’s distracted enough by the slide of slick fingers on his cock that he isn’t prepared for the sharp pinch to his nipple.

He makes an embarrassing sound and jerks under him, but Malfoy just grins and rubs his nipple, almost like an apology even though he’s probably going to do it again without warning. Then he slides his hand across Harry’s chest, fingers twisting through hair and sometimes _tugging_.

“Do you want to fuck me, Potter?” Malfoy suddenly asks, his hand tightening around Harry’s cock.

“ _Obviously_ ,” Harry hisses, twitching into his hand when it stops moving.

“Then beg,” Malfoy says, letting his cock go and moving fast, grabbing Harry’s wrists and pinning them to the bed. “Beg me for it.”

Harry barely has time to register the loss of Malfoy’s hand before his body is pressing down on him. Malfoy face hovers over him, his mouth close.

“Fuck off,” Harry mutters, rocking his hips up. Malfoy matches him, rolling his hips down. Between their bodies, Harry can feel Malfoy’s cock is just as hard as his. The feel of it is maddening when it comes with the memory of it pressed deep inside him.

Malfoy dips down and kisses him. But he pulls back before Harry can react, biting Harry’s lip as he goes.

“You either come like this, or you beg for my arse and get it,” Malfoy says, dipping down and mouthing at Harry’s neck. “No games. No pretending you hate this when it’s so fucking obvious to anyone with eyes that you don’t. If you want it, then beg for it.”

Harry shudders under him. He should have known Malfoy would do something like that.

“You fucking bastard,” he hisses, tilting his head, trying to free his wrists from Malfoy’s grip.

Malfoy hums against his neck, gives him a bit of teeth. The scrape and sting of it makes Harry convulse under him. “Better hurry, before your body doesn’t let you make a choice.”

“Wanker!”

With a low chuckle, Malfoy suddenly moves one of Harry’s hands. He lets go of his wrist and holds his hand, reaches it back until Harry’s fingers are brushing his arse. It’s a hard reach, and Harry’s shoulder lifts off the bed, but then his fingers brush slick skin and he groans and rocks up against Malfoy’s body even harder.

“You can have that,” Malfoy murmurs, letting the tip of one of Harry’s fingers dip in for just a moment before pinning his hand to the bed again. “All you have to do is beg me for it.”

“You...fucking...” Harry’s face is burning, his cock aches and every rolling motion of Malfoy’s hips makes it harder and harder to think.

Malfoy’s lips brush his ear. “If you beg me for this, I’ll show up at work tomorrow and fuck you over your desk,” he says. “I’ll even let you pretend you hate it. Just beg. Admit you want this.”

Harry closes his eyes tight and tries to find the will to say this isn’t going to happen again, that such an incentive is pointless. But Malfoy’s still rocking against him, still sucking and biting his neck, and now Harry’s imagining it. Imagining them getting back into the office after a mission, late, when no one else is around. He’s imagining a scuffle, and then Malfoy pinning him to the desk, bending him over it and breathing loud in his ear while he—

“For fucks sake, is this really so hard for you? Just say you want it!” Malfoy hisses. “Are you so fucking set on pretending this is all nothing? Just _adrenaline_? Like you didn’t fucking miss me after four days and came barging in here demanding I come back to work? Potter, you are so fucking transparent! You almost killed us both, you lost _control,_ when you saw someone’s wand at my throat, you _stupid_ , fucking—”

“Shut up!” Harry snaps, shuddering under him. “Just...let me fuck you. Please, let me...I want it. I’m aching for it. Let me have it! Let me fuck you! _Please_.”

Better to beg than listen to _that_ come out of Malfoy’s mouth. Better than confronting _that_ and the ring of truth in it.

Malfoy stills and then moves back, sits on Harry’s hips and looks down at him. He shakes his head.

“You almost don’t deserve it,” he mutters, though he reaches down and grips Harry’s cock. Harry tries to catch the moment he casts another lubrication spell, but there’s nothing. No indication he’s even trying to concentrate before his hand is slicker. It sends a low throb of heat through Harry’s groin. Even he can’t cast that flawlessly when he’s distracted. “Thinking you have _ever_ managed to hide anything from me. Thinking that I don’t _know_.”

Harry’s breath catches in his throat as Malfoy guides his cock until it’s pressing between slick cheeks and catching on the edge of his rim, pressing in. Malfoy’s brow furrows the same way it does when he’s concentrating on his paperwork, and Harry almost laughs. He’s never going to be able to see that at work again without hardening in his trousers. Only, that’s not exactly funny, and he shies away from the thought as soon as he has it.

But then Malfoy is sinking down onto him, and he grabs at his thighs and chokes on air until Malfoy is settled and balancing himself with one hand on Harry’s chest.

“You, Harry Potter, are such a fucking _idiot_ ,” Malfoy groans. “I don’t know why I fucking bother with you.”

“Do you _ever_ shut up?” Harry says, wincing when it comes out as a whine. He’s digging his fingers into Malfoy’s thighs, but he can’t seem to let go. Malfoy doesn’t seem to care.

The feel of him is better than Harry imagined, those few times he dared to imagine it. Not that he imagined it like _this_. But then, maybe he should have. Malfoy has always thrived on defying expectations. Doing everything no one thinks he will. Like becoming an Auror in the first place. Breaking all the rules even though people once wanted him in Azkaban and might still try to put him there if he gives them the chance. Like he doesn’t care that breaking the rules only makes everyone hate him more.

They stay still for so long Harry finds it easy to breathe again. He looks up and finds Malfoy has his eyes closed. It’s almost unnerving how still he is, sitting there with Harry’s cock inside him.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

Malfoy keeps his eyes closed. “Cataloguing the moment,” he says. “Giving us both a breather so this doesn’t end sooner than either of us wants. Savouring the feeling of your cock inside me.” He opens his eyes and looks down. “You feel good inside me.”

The utter lack of hesitation before Malfoy tells him that makes Harry feel itchy in his skin.

“Of course I do,” he scoffs. “You doubted I would?”

Malfoy sighs and shifts on him, twitching his hips in small motions that feel like earthquakes. “Doubted you’d ever let me find out,” he mutters. “I’d say you have a permanent stick up your arse about me, but then, I’ve been up there so I know that’s not true.”

Harry can’t figure out what to say to any of that, not while Malfoy’s twitching like that. “Well, I hate you, if that’s what you mean by stick up my arse.”

Malfoy snorts and shakes his head. Then he moves, lifting himself without warning. Harry groans and shifts his hands to grip at the duvet again. Just when he thinks Malfoy is going to lift off him completely, he sinks back down.

Harry groans before he remembers he once wanted to make Malfoy work hard to pull sounds from him. He’s giving over to it too easily. He’s giving Malfoy everything he needs to be saying the things he’s been saying. But Malfoy starts moving and the heat of him, the sounds he makes, distracts him at once.

It’s hard to stay silent, or still. He twitches his hips up every time he’s deep in Malfoy again, and Malfoy makes a soft, breathy sound each time he does. He reaches down and slides his hand over his own cock with a low groan and Harry thrusts up into him from the sight alone.

Malfoy stops moving and lets his cock go.

“I really fucking hate you,” he groans, running a hand through his hair and looking down at Harry. “We could be doing this all the fucking time, you _idiot_. Why do you keep denying yourself this?”

“Because we hate each other, and we work with each other, and we fight enough as it is without adding _this_ to it,” Harry groans, sliding his hands over Malfoy’s thighs, feeling shaky from the sudden loss of stimulation. “We _hate_ each other.”

Malfoy swallows and shakes his head. He opens his mouth to speak, then snorts softly and shakes his head again. He leans over, leans down until their faces are close.

“What does that even matter? What has that even got to do with _this_?” he asks, starting to move again.

Harry hisses and grabs at him, holds his sides while he moves. He lifts his hips up as Malfoy rocks back onto him.

Malfoy moans and presses his forehead against Harry’s. “Maybe we wouldn’t fight so often if we fucked more often. Did you ever consider that?” he breathes, dropping his head to Harry’s neck and biting him. “That maybe we need a...an outlet for our... _fuck_...our tension?”

He’s barely moving now, but Harry moves for him, fucking up into him. The effort makes him shake, and he risks pissing Malfoy off. He moves them, rolls them in an awkward tangle of limbs until he’s kneeling between Malfoy’s open legs.

Before he can move, Malfoy kicks him in the chest and shifts, turns over. He’s on his hands and knees when he looks over his shoulder.

“Go on then, fuck me like you hate me,” he says, an ugly sneer on his face.

The taunt feels empty, the sneer looks wrong, but Harry shifts up and presses into him anyway. He curls his fingers around Malfoy’s hips so hard he’ll probably leave bruises, and then he starts fucking him. Malfoy grunts and gasps through each thrust, pressing back against him and somehow making it seem like he’s the one fucking Harry.

Like he’s the one with all the control, all the power, just dragging Harry along with him while he gets what he wants.

Harry shakes, lost in the feel of him, the sight of his back, long and pale, stretched out in front of him. The next time Malfoy looks over his shoulder, eyes defiant, Harry loses it. He curls half over him as he comes. Shudders through it and stills, deep inside him.

Malfoy makes a scoffing, disappointed sound that forces another thrust out of Harry before he pulls out entirely.

The sound of their breathing is loud, and Harry is still shaking as he shuffles back and looks at him. Takes it all in. Malfoy is still on his hands and knees, cock hanging hard between his legs, rim twitching as he tries to hold in what’s already slipping out of him.

The image is settling in Harry’s mind, putting down roots, and Harry knows he’s going to see it again every time Malfoy looks at him with defiance in his eyes.

With a loud sigh, Malfoy turns and flops onto his back. His chest is still heaving, but he makes no move to touch himself. He just stares up at Harry. He bends his knees and lets his legs fall open like an invitation.

“Well?” he says.

Harry shuffles close between his legs and slips two fingers into him, curls them.

Malfoy shudders and his hips jerk. He grabs at the duvet and tosses his head back as Harry _presses._

Harry leans over him. “Guess my fingers aren’t too tiny to reach after all,” he says, easing the pressure only to press again.

“Oh, I know,” Malfoy says, voice strained as he shudders under him. “I’ve though...thought about them a lot. Doing exactly this. And _fuck_ , Potter, I suppose...I suppose I have to touch my own cock then?”

Harry looks between them. Malfoy’s leaking, obviously close. Harry wants to shift down and close his mouth over it, just so he can have something to say back whenever Malfoy prattles on about how Harry’s stupid, good-for-nothing mouth always gets them into trouble in meetings.

He doesn’t get the chance. Just a few more pointed presses with his fingers and Malfoy jerks under him, coming all over his stomach and up his chest, cock untouched. He opens his mouth in a loud gasp that fades into nothing more than heavy breathing. It somehow sounds better than any moan ever could.

While Harry watches his cock twitch out the last of his orgasm, Malfoy reaches down and pushes his hand away until his fingers slide out of him.

“Ease up, you oaf,” he mutters, his voice shaky. “It’s not a bloody elevator button.”

Harry’s thoughts grind to a halt. “A _what_?”

Malfoy snorts and lies back again. He waves a dismissive hand in the air and closes his eyes. Harry stares down at him, wishing he could feel so relaxed. Instead, he’s only starting to feel on edge. Tension creeps into his body.

Malfoy cracks an eye open. “Yes, yes, this is _never_ going to happen again. I know, I know,” he mutters, making another dismissive hand gesture. Then he stills and stares at him with both eyes. “Except for me fucking you over your desk at least once. You did beg, after all, and I did promise.”

Harry keeps staring at him. As the pleasant buzz of sex fades, all Malfoy’s words come back to him. His body language. It all twists around his head and he tries to stop himself from analysing it, just like he usually does. It’s harder than ever before.

“Oh bloody hell,” Malfoy mutters, closing his eyes again. “Go have your crisis somewhere else, I’m don’t want to see it.”

“You don’t hate me,” Harry says, remembering Malfoy’s reaction to his statement all too clearly. The shaking head, the aborted words before an obvious deflection.

“I do right now,” Malfoy says. “You’re ruining my afterglow. Piss off.”

Harry looks around. He can give Malfoy that. He can give himself that.

“What did you do with my clothes?” he asks, getting up off the bed and looking around the room.

Malfoy hums and Harry looks over to find him staring. He barely resists the urge to cover himself with his hands. It’s the first time he’s been stuck with Malfoy after sex. The first time they’d barely undressed, he’d been able to rush off the moment it was over. The second time, he’d just left Malfoy by the fireplace and gone to another room to wait until he’d left. But now?

Now he’s in Malfoy’s flat, without his clothes, and Malfoy is starting to look like he wants to pull him back to bed.

For a moment, Harry wants him to. It’s more appealing than going back to his empty flat where he’ll have nothing but time alone to think until it’s time to go to work again. And then he’s not sure if Malfoy will really show up or continue his pointless leave. And he’s not entirely sure whether he wants him to show up or not. Whether he’ll cave again and let Malfoy bend him over his desk.

He needs a distraction.

The last thing he wants to do is think about how he keeps giving in to Malfoy.

Malfoy sighs loudly and makes a pointed gesture with his hand. A moment later Harry’s clothes appear in the air beside him and fall to the floor.

“You have wandless magic, I’m aware,” Harry mutters as starts pulling on clothes. “No need to keep showing off.”

“Oh please,” Malfoy scoffs. “This is nothing. Pure laziness. You’d know if I was showing off.”

“Yeah, it’s usually why we keep getting pulled in front of the disciplinary board after missions.”

Malfoy’s gaze sharpens. “Half the shit I do in the field is nothing more than a reaction to you deciding ‘fuck the plan’ and just doing whatever you want without even telling me first!”

“Exactly,” Harry says smugly. “ _Half_. The other half is showing off just because you can. And nearly getting us killed in the process. Because you’re an arrogant, self—”

A rush of magic cuts him off and he finds himself standing in front of Malfoy’s front door.

With a low curse, he finishes pulling on the clothes he was luckily holding when Malfoy banished him from the wards. The hallway is empty, and Harry is never more glad that Wizards don’t have video surveillance.

The moment he’s dressed he heads for the Ministry. His shift ended hours ago, but in the back of his mind, even forcing himself not to think about any of it, he can feel it all turning, building, heading towards _something_.

He’d rather dive into work than dive into his thoughts.

***

He barely gets through the door to their office before he pulls up short. There it is. His desk. With an annoyed growl, he closes his eyes and tries to stop the thoughts but it’s too late. All he can see is Malfoy bending him over it.

That fucking _bastard_.

**End.**

**Author's Note:**

> Yah, sooooo I could have written a whole new hate sex fic to scratch that itch, but I'm an idiot, so this is more FEELS FEELS, DENY THE FEELS, than it is hate sex but yeah. Malfoy is so fucking done indulging Harry's denial.
> 
> The existence of this followup does not mean I will write more of this. This was a gift fic. Please do not ask me to write more.
> 
> Also big thanks to Saphira for the Alpha read and screaming enthusiasm =D


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